Christmas Eve Preparations

It is Christmas Eve and I have been planning for tomorrow's feast since before Thanksgiving. It would not be exaggeration to say that a large percentage of my thoughts for the past month and a half have revolved around planning for and imagining my Christmas Dinner Extravaganza. This year is an at-home year and I volunteered to host our urban family for Christmas dinner. I have dreamed up an Italian theme and proceeded to methodically and painstakingly engineer all of the details. The past two weekends have been consumed with pre-making almost 200 ravioli with Jax, along with a lovely steamy marinara sauce. The past three days have revolved around meticulous shopping for the very best ingredients at the farmers market and various grocery and specialty stores. Today started and ended with cooking joyfully in my kitchen -- soup and tiramisu. And now, all that remains is some prep work and hosting the Best Christmas Party Ever. Yum.

The tradition in my family, as in most families I am sure, has long revolved around food on Christmas. We start at my Mom's house on Christmas eve. This happens to be the birthday of one of my "other mothers" who is also Jewish. As I grew up in the woods in a small town in Maine, this means that Marjie never had the opportunity to go out for a nice dinner on her birthday, as everything is closed. So my mom has been hosting the candle-lit birthday eve party every year since I can remember. Around 7 or so we light candles everywhere and turn out the lights and wait for our guests to arrive. Neighbors trudge up the snowy path to our door, stamping boots and shedding layers as they enter. We gather and mingle and snack and sip tea and wine. There is always a birthday cake baked specially by my mom, accompanied by sherry, which is a favorite of Marjie's. To me, this event is the epitome of Christmas spirit. A dark, snowy and cold evening warmed by flickering lights and close friends and laughter. As the years have passed the faces have changed and now there are tiny children among the celebratees, and the party wraps up a little earlier. But the heart of it remains the same -- friends and wine and chocolate and celebration.

Christmas morning is punctuated first by coffee and juice on my parents' bed while we open stockings. This favorite ritual is followed by a leisurely pajama breakfast of waffles made in an old cast iron waffle iron over the gas stove. Twenty or so years of practice have allowed Jack to hone his waffle skills and have made this scattered and delicious tradition one of may favorites. Grapefruit, maple syrup from Vermont or Canada, yogurt, fruit, tea and coffee. This meal lasts at least an hour or two and most of the time our gift thank-you lists are sticky with syrup by the time we are done.

Breakfast and gifts transition in to preparations for the next, and final, stage of Christmas: dinner at the Block's house. This dinner became a tradition before I can remember and has a unique place in my heart as a marker of a true Christmas celebration. In the early afternoon we gather ourselves and our contributions to dinner -- invariably including butternut squash soup and cheesecake -- and head out into the cold for the 45 minute drive. Dinner at the Block's is special in that it looks very much like a scene from a Rockwell Christmas card, or a Martha Stewart photo spread. An old parsonage restored to New England glory, ladies in long skirts bustling with aprons in the kitchen, men with glasses of Scotch eating cocktail shrimp around the Christmas tree. The tree is always twice as large, full, and festive as any other tree. Dinner becomes invariably delayed as everyone pitches in, cocktail in hand and visits and catches up from the year before. 12 or 15 guests in the norm and make for a vibrant evening and a cosmopolitan conversation in every room. Dinner is served in full ceremony with all of us side-by-side around the big dining table. Plates and glasses with gold-leaf edges, perfect place settings with each piece of silver in its correct orientation. A toast by the head of household, most often including a Jewish prayer as well as a Christmas blessing accompanied by one of those truly good bottles of wine that are both luxury and luscious. The first course is the curried squash soup served in dainty soup cups -- smooth and warm and creamy and sweet. This is followed by a truly impressive platter of holiday meat -- crown roast, trussed turkey, roast beef -- and every side dish appropriate. Dinner lasts forever, extended indefinitely by stories, verbal sparring, jokes, and reminiscences. At some point the plates are cleared and a palate cleanser of frozen fruit salad is served. Perfect in its molded form, icy and sweet and lush with chunks of strawberry and peach, this has long been my favorite dish of the meal. After the chilled course we retire to the kitchen to form a brigade of dedicated dishwashers painstakingly washing and drying and putting away each dish and glass and pot and pan. The camaraderie of dishwashers is such that it is more a place to congregate and share stories than a place of work. Late in the evening we wind up our festivities with coffee and pie and fond hugs goodbye. This may be the most elegant meal of the year for me.

So, this year, far away from my family traditions I am forging some new ones of my own. My dinner tomorrow will be in the leisurely luxury spirit of the Blocks and infused with the raucous joy and fun of my urban family. Christmas ravioli, fresh farmer salad, flavors and smells and celebratory cocktails will all fuse to make a new Christmas tradition, perhaps.

Patio Harvest: Greens with Radishes

The Patio Farm has been flourishing -- if slowly, given the lack of direct sun in the "middle" of winter here in the Sonoran Desert. The cooler weather and some recent spatterings of rain have greened everything up and made my plants lush and very edible looking. Time for a harvest meal. After all, what is the point of growing your own food if you don't intend to eat it?

One of my recent favorite dinner dishes lately has been greens with radishes. It is a simple idea, and one that is appropriately seasonal in Arizona. I realize that this is NOT the time of year for radishes for all of the northeast-dwellers, but you can either use your imagination, or break down and buy a bunch of them from the grocery store to go with your in-season winter greens.

I have been blessed this year with a plenitude of radishes, first from the Farm, and now from my patio garden as well. Radishes are not a vegetable that comes to mind too often for most folks, but they have come to really resonate with me and are my mascot vegetable as well. There is something so charming about a dainty little French Breakfast radish, a bouquet of multi-colored Easter Egg radishes, or the intense peppery and crisp bite into the magenta heart of a Watermelon radish. With all of the radishes available to me this fall I had to find some hew ways to eat them, besides adding to salads ... and thus Greens with Radishes was invented in my kitchen one evening. Since then, this recipe and its many variations have become a staple of weeknight dinner.



Greens with Radishes

1 bunch greens (kale, chard, spinach, etc.)
4 or 5 cloves garlic, crushed
5 or 6 radishes, sliced
olive oil
lemon juice (or vinegar)
optional: a handful of cashews or walnuts
optional: dry white wine

Wash the greens, remove tough stems, and chop the leaves into thin ribbons, or small pieces (an inch by an inch). Heat the oil in a pan wide or deep enough to accommodate the raw greens (they will shrink a lot during cooking). Add the garlic and salt & pepper and a splash of water (or wine) and cover and simmer for a few minutes to soften and mellow the garlic. Add the radishes (and nuts, if using) and then the greens and cover again. Toss the greens occasionally and cook until tender and bright green (only a few minutes for most tender greens). Remove from heat and add a splash of lemon juice or vinegar. Serve immediately and eat them all ... it doesn't get any better than this!

Pot Luck

I attended an event recently that brought tons of memories back to me from childhood: a potluck. Now that I reflect, it has been many, many years since I have been to a true Pot Luck. Of course, there have been dinner parties, office parties, events with friends, picnics that have included an element of contribution by all the attendees – but there is always some grand plan, some orchestration as to who shall bring what so as to fill out a complete and balanced menu. The dinner that I attended was different. This was a true potluck in the sense that it relied completely on faith and on LUCK.

Now, my worst fear of any potluck is that the buffet table ends up filled with Doritos, bags of cookies and store-bought potato salad. And this is why hosts so often tend to carefully plan and delegate their potlucks these days. Perhaps many of us are so far from being cooks any more, or too busy or lazy to come up with something creative to bring to dinner. Or many of us are afraid that our tastes may not match those of others, or the myriad food preferences or allergies or taboos has simply gotten too complex to deal with and so we either default to the easiest crowd pleaser (chips and dip!) or we overly plan to avoid offending someone’s palate.

A true potluck, however, is one which succeeds based on a blind trust in the community to provide exactly what is needed. In that sense, a pot luck is a mirror reflection of the community gathered together to break bread. It reflects the values and tastes and traditions and creativity of those involved. Do we trust that there will be main dishes, as well as drinks and desserts and finger foods? Do we rely upon luck that not everyone will bring lasagna, or chili or salad? Well, it depends on the diversity of those with whom we gather. A community is one held together by bonds of similarities, threads of commonalities, mutual respect and interest, and which values the unique contributions of each individual. A true, dynamic community then should produce a wonderfully varied and flavorful meal complete in its scope and reflective of the contributors. When we are a part of that kind of community – not just a group of people, but a COMMUNITY – collaboration in the form of shared food truly becomes a feast and a cultural exchange.

I am reminded of the weekly potlucks that I was a part of growing up. The community was diverse, passionate, creative, subversive and idealistic. Sunday nights the tribe would gather at one place or another and a table would miraculously fill with food and drink. From a child’s perspective, the table was often an array of mystery foods – many of which were brown, hard, chewy, and clearly healthy. There were crusty home-baked dark breads that took serious time and mastication to get through a slice. There were all-natural casseroles, grains, things grown in people’s gardens, or fermented in their cellars. Jugs of homemade cider, mason jars of preserves or pickles, perhaps a very dense chocolate cake made with honey and whole wheat flour. The mélange of food was always a meal, however, and never the same twice. Each family or person contributed their own spirit in a dish and the afternoon and evening were spent mixing foods side by side and people side by side into a community feast. All were provided for. All contributed. Each taste was unique and complimentary and took its rightful place. Each person had their own place in the group which formed a kaleidoscopic view of the moment in time in a small community in the woods in Maine. As far back as we go, humans have been gathering to nurture one another by exchanging food, by breaking and sharing bread.

It was a refreshing reminder that community can still exist that can support a true potluck. I tasted local-cured olive tapenade, heirloom lentils from Italy with local greens, pierogies, ravioli, green chile stew, chickpeas with chewy grains, raspberry trifle, peach pie, local cider and coffee with Kahlua – to recall only a fraction. But, more than the exchange of food, there was also an exchange of ideas and passions – gardening tips, travel stories, recipes, life experiences. For a brief evening, bundled in jackets and eating by candlelight, there seemed to be the spirit of a vital community still glowing brightly.

1 day in the life of a novice chef

12 hours cooking
3 girlfriends together by chance on a weeknight
2 bars, 1 banoffee pie, and too many new faces to remember
2:30 haphazard bedtime
6:30 wake up on best friend’s couch
½ cup of coffee to start the day before sunrise
3 minute drive back to the kitchen
40 slices of mozzarella and tomato shingled in a spiral on a bed of kale
96 pounds of artichoke spinach dip made in 5 heavy batches
1:00 late lunch of salad, rice and chocolate-covered strawberry
30 pounds of assorted cheese cut in cubes for plating
4 dishwashers playing prep cook
83 pounds of Dijon potato salad in plastic bus tubs
35 pounds of crudite – peppers, tomatoes, carrots, celery, cucumber and squash
2 quarts of Cesar dressing that breaks at the last minute, oil drops glistening and popping
10 minutes to clean the station for tomorrow
1 bundle of kitchen towels stashed away for the morning
13:03 hours punched on the timeclock
25 minute drive home in the dark
1 candle lighting up the patio garden
1 husband and 2 cats to welcome home
too many blessings to count

Happy Thanksgiving

"Happy Thanksgiving.

Now eat your vegetables!"

Garden Stories

Gwynneth was surprised that the halucinogenic effects of Ambien had not been more urgently spelled out on the bottle.

Thanksgiving Favorite

Everyone has their favorite dish to eat on Thanksgiving. For lots of people it is the turkey, many others love the stuffing or the green bean casserole or the pumpkin pie. For me, my annual favorite dish is the cranberry sauce. I have, over the years, honed and tweaked my special recipe and volunteered to make the cranberry sauce at every Thanksgiving dinner I have attended for at least 10 years running.

I get so excited when the grocery stores stack up the bags of fresh cranberries. It is the dish that I make well ahead of time so that I can sneak spoonfuls from the fridge in the days leading up to the Big Feast. It is the spot of brilliant color on a plate of beige and white and brown and green. It is the zest and freshness that compliments all other holiday food and lets your mouth know that this really IS a celebration of taste. I have, of course, already made my batch of cranberry sauce this year. And I just had another bite on the sly while rooting through the fridge for something else. I can only hope there will be enough left for everyone else on Thursday!

Holiday Cranberry Sauce

1 bag fresh cranberries
2/3 cup sugar
1 cup fresh squeezed orange or tangerine juice
grated and finely chopped zest from 2 oranges
1/2 cup frozen blueberries
2 or 3 oranges, sectioned

Combine the juice, sugar, cranberries and zest in a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 5 or 6 minutes, until the cranberries have popped. Remove from the eat an stir in the frozen blueberries. Cool. Fold in the orange sections.

Note: I often double or triple this recipe if I am cooking for a large group.

High on Vegetables

It all comes down to this for me: vegetables are fantastic.

I am mesmerized by the colors, shapes, textures -- the incredible variety of palpable aliveness. While meat is dead food, vegetables -- the really good ones -- are still living and vital well past the moment that you bite into them. No one could invent something as simple and as complex as a watermelon radish, a baby carrot with it's green tassels waving, a bowl full of tiny lettuce leaves.

You know how sometimes you see an apple, or a pear in a store display and wonder if it's real? And you pick it up to see and it turns out to be a wooden apple or a plastic pear, compelling at first glance but nowhere near the real thing upon closer inspection. Well, take that magnetic appearance and then add the fact that vegetables are edible. Beautiful and edible and exactly unique and magically nourishing. Vegetables are a simple opportunity to experience the vast brilliance of nature and our direct visceral connection to it.

Granted, a trip to the grocery store can be a buzz kill for the farmer's market devotee, with generic vegetables standardized for weight, color and minimal flavor. However, there is still a variety and array of color and taste that cannot be rivaled in the cracker aisle, at the meat counter, or in the bags of frozen food. The lovely and compelling and alluring thing about vegetables is that we didn't have to do a thing to invent them. They simply are, fantastic. Stop a moment and really contemplate a carrot, or the complexity of a broccoli crown: truly a wonder of existence. Now take it home and eat it, life energy from the earth directly into you.

One Year Ago

One Year Ago Today

Dare I say, I think that today is worth comparing to a year ago.
Today I woke up early, put on my Lucy pants and clogs and drove to work watching a sunrise.
A year ago, I slept in late, woke up foggy and had no particular place to go.
I took the day off to escape from my every day and vowed not to think about work, or my problems.
Today I chopped vegetables, baked pita crisps, laughed, joked around and made ponzu sauce all well before noon.
A year ago, I drank champagne and ate pastries in Jax's back yard, all before noon. This was good stuff. How I felt at the time was not. Hard to appreciate so many blessings when my view was clouded with entitlement and big bad stories and disproportionate expectations.
Today I worked for peanuts, almost, but enjoyed it. I made dressing and fruit salad and an eight-pound bowl of berries. I made a few people laugh and one sad person happier. I rocked. 
A year ago I shed tears over a gimlet and some bad hummus and waxed reflective and wished that I could play with vegetables for a living. Not sure that was even possible, or plausible.
Today, I got my fervent wish. I played with vegetables. Tomorrow, I will go and see them growing, as fresh as ever possible and feed some bad ones to the chickens.
A year ago I could hardly imagine fearlessly following my gut in such a literal way.
Gratefully, there was a food revolution.
Thankfully, it was MY food revolution.
Viva, Vegetable Revolution.

Fun with Vegetables



Garden Stories

Grant had always said that success was 90% confidence and 10% competence. That was all well and good in middle management, but today he really hoped that it was actually true.

Garden Stories

Tyrese had become a vegan for many reasons -- cardiovascular health, reducing his environmental footprint, gaining more energy for his daily activities, even ethical and social considerations. But although he had grown to love his clean and green lifestyle, he would still occasionally wax nostalgic for the carnivorous pleasures of a tricera chop, or a steg sandwich.

Garden Stories

The scent of death had led Alexis to this place, but she was unprepared for the extent of the terrible carnage that she saw. The rain of frozen meteors felled every tree in this part of the forest and had crushed the unlucky flock of chicks as well. She was saddened for a moment at the immensity of the decimation, but also knew that she had hungry mouths to feed and these small frozen chicken nuggets were surely better than another day of starvation.    

Natural Disaster

There are moments as a micro-farmer that provide me some small insight into the enormous challenges that real farmers face every day. Not that nurturing a backyard lettuce crop is evenly remotely comparable to stewarding 10 or 20 or 100 acres of commercial produce … but there is a similarity nonetheless in the connection between farmer and plant, between woman and nature.

After months of 100+ degree days, weeks upon weeks without rain, and innumerable hours spent building, planting and tending my Patio Farm, I experienced an event that humbled me as a farmer. Heavy clouds rolled across the desert yesterday. It was a beautiful cool day and such a welcome end to a long sweltering summer. In the late afternoon I returned home in time to experience the unpredictable fury of a desert hail storm. The clouds and thunder blew in quickly and hail began pelting my house, increasing intensity to the point where I wondered whether the windows would really hold up much longer, or collapse inward with a horizontal rush of ice pellets. I watched in awe as my patio farm was torn apart leaf by leaf by nature herself and reduced to a tangle of broken leaves and sticks and hail.

Now, part of me was reveling in the excitement of weather – real weather! -- as I am always lusting after rain in the Valley of the Sun. But the rest of me was heartbroken watching the tiny plants that I have worked so hard to cultivate get torn to shreds in only moments, and I was absolutely powerless to protect them in any way. Imagine then how a farmer feels when an entire crop is threatened or destroyed. You put all of your faith and energy and time into the unpredictable magic of growing food, trusting that the plants will thrive, the rain will come, the sun will shine.

Really, growing food is one of the biggest gambles there is. As a farmer, you are pretty much all-in on every hand with no choice about whether to draw or stand. And in one uncontrollable moment, everything can be destroyed in front of you. No wonder so many people have left farming for the safer and more predictable world of business or service or manufacturing. After all, a hail storm only keeps customers away from your store for a few hours. A flood only shuts down a factory for as long as it takes to mop up and repair. A freezing blizzard can keep people away from your office for a few days but it does not put you out of business. But with farming, everything that you work for can easily and instantly vanish. What will you eat this winter? What will you sell to pay the bills? How can you repair the damage done when the damage is complete destruction and the season is past for repair? Only a brave or foolish person would make that gamble year after year. Or one who has soil and sweat and seeds ingrained too deeply in their soul to turn away to more predictable ventures.

My personal natural disaster reminded me how tenuous our food system really is. We are so accustomed to walking into the grocery store, debit card and canvas bag in hand, and buying lemons, flour, artichokes, or chicken regardless of the season or weather or location. But, at some very basic level, our food depends on the luck and work of a farmer somewhere creating the raw materials out of earth and faith and knowledge. Why then do we expect food to be so cheap? And so abundant? If most of us no longer have the ability to grow our own food, let alone cook it well, then why do we undervalue the professional efforts of those who do? These are questions much bigger than my own back yard, but I think they are truly worth asking. Especially in the face of an abrupt reminder that nature not only feeds, us, but destroys our crops as well.

Garden Stories

With six kids to raise as a single mom, sometimes Betsy was so worn out that she just felt like a fat old sow.  But then she would catch a glimpse of Maggie's curly tail or Milo's eager upturned snout and she would remember that is was all worthwhile, if only to avoid sending them all to daycare at nearby Hillshire Farms.    

Cat Grass

Naturally, our cats are an important part of our household and deserve to benefit from my new garden. We planted some cat grass seeds in some smaller pots and let them grow to a few inches tall. One lazy afternoon I brought a pot of cat grass inside for Nina and Casey and let them go to town. They knew instantly what it was and ran over and started chewing. This is one of the rare occasions on which they have actually peaceably shared something edible. You can hear their contented gnawing on the video. Of course, Nina threw up shortly after eating her fill. Just a regular weekend afternoon at our house.

Garden Stories

Akima and Haku had searched for many days and nights for the mythic Orachi, an elusive serpent with magical powers. Now, deep in Retasu Forest, they felt confident their prey was within reach, and danger must surely be far behind them now ...

Chicken Feed Update

Apparently chickens like to eat flowers. Hyacinth bean flowers, to be exact. They also enjoy aravaipa and yali pears. I know what you must be thinking .... and yes, it IS my job to find these things out. Cool, huh?  

Stop F*&^ing With Our Food!

U.S. Meat Farmers Brace for Limits on Antibiotics

I was really pleased to see this article on the NY Times website today (link above). Sometimes I get really bummed out thinking that our food system is never going to change, and that the effort that so many people put forth is wasted. And sometimes I think that we are on the cusp on a new global understanding of interconnectedness and responsibility in our food system and environment. Today I am leaning a little bit towards the latter thought, thanks in part to this article. I really do hope that these type of reforms go through and are not thwarted by back-room lobby deals and political horse trading. Big Meat and Big Chemical are both in bed together, and with the policy makers and enforcers in our government. Not to sound too paranoid or anything ... it is just a fact of life and politics and capitalism in our country today. In any case, if the medical community doesn't find it wise to preemptively feed our children antibiotics to prevent childhood illness and improve their growth rate, then why would we do that to animals -- especially ones that we plan to eat? There is some simple logic here that I hope is undeniable and unignorable.

For anyone who has read John Robbins' Food Revolution, I am sure that you got a chuckle out of the National Pork Producers Council's blatant denial of the risks of antibiotic use in livestock:  “There is no conclusive scientific evidence that antibiotics used in food animals have a significant impact on the effectiveness of antibiotics in people.” When the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, European Union, experts at Iowa state University and University of Minnesota, American Medical Association, Pew Charitable Trust, and Infectious Diseases Society of America (to name a few) all agree that there are serious current and potential risks to human health, it seems a little disingenuous for Big Meat to just pretend that there is nothing to worry about.

Keep your fingers crossed ... maybe things will actually change for the better, one step at a time. Until then ... know your farmer, know your food.

What do Chickens Like to Eat?

One of my responsibilities on the farm is looking after the chickens. There are maybe 30 of them in a coop next to the produce shed and I hear the roosters announcing the sunrise every morning when I get to work (and then all day long!). There also seems to be a regular crowing competition between our chickens and the neighbors' and the call and response can get very entertaining.

I don't know why exactly, but chickens are pretty darn compelling to me. I have been fascinated with them for a while, and was envious when my buddy Jax got three of them in her back yard this past Spring. While they are not all that smart, and can be pretty brutal and filthy and even mean-spirited, they are somehow captivating to me. For one thing, chickens are incredibly funny when they run. They are urgent and lean forward as if to become more aerodynamic and always make me wonder reflexively "where are their arms?!" They like to roll around in the dirt and lay on their sides and stare at you suspiciously with one eye. They have an amazing array of possible colors and patterns and styles, all adding greatly to the expression of chicken personality and individuality. And, of course, chickens have a lot to say and are vocal about their opinions and commentary.

I have begun to form a bond with my flock, whom I collectively refer to as "Ladies." I change their water daily, and have the privilege of feeding them wilted or soft or otherwise unsaleable vegetables. They all come running to the door of the coop when I arrive, as they have learned to expect me to bring them treats. I check for eggs in the nest boxes and reach under them to see if they are holding out on me. For some reason, they like to group their eggs all in the same box, even though there are about 20 boxes that they could lay in. Chicken duty may be one of my favorite farm chores.

One of the things that I have been learning is that chickens have discerning palates, just like the rest of us. So, I have been on a mission to answer the burning question: what do chickens like to eat? I am looking forward to a changing seasonal review of chicken snack preferences.

Yum List: purslane, basil, small eggplants, tomatoes, melons if they are cut open, broccoli, anything in my friend Jax's garden.

Yuck list: okra, big eggplants, winter squash, whole melons.

Camera phone video of chickens eating basil.

Veggie Face

Nature has a sense of humor. So do my co-workers on the farm.

Diet Fad Pet-Peeve Vindication

The low-carb, high-protein diets like Atkins drive me crazy. Not only do their devotees go around proclaming the virtues of meat at every meal, but they also spend considerable time trash-talking really good things, like (homemade) bread and veggies and pasta and fruit. In the nutrition class that I have been taking, there is substantial data about the myriad issues with high-protein diets ... and yet they persist, as do their dedicated subscribers. Finally, there is some pretty definitive science showing that the low-carb, high-protein diet is not all that it is hyped up to be. Long story short ... a study of more than 100,000 people over 20+ years showed a higher all-cause and cancer mortality rate for those who followed a meat-based low carb diet. The study conclusion: "A low-carbohydrate diet based on animal sources was associated with higher all-cause mortality in both men and women, whereas a vegetable-based low-carbohydrate diet was associated with lower all-cause and cardiovascular disease mortality rates."

Check out the article and study abstract below for more detailed information.

Article
Study  

Hooray for vegetables!

Nutrition food for thought*:

• recommended amount of protein in average American diet: 10 - 25% of total caloric intake
• sedentary Americans eat up to 50% more protein than is recommended
• potential health risks of high-protein diet: cardiovascular disease, low bone density, stress to kidney function
• increased protein intake does not result in an increase in muscle mass or enhanced athletic performace

* as summarized from Nutrition: An Applied Approach, 2nd Edition 2008

Yes, Chef!

This week I started work as a chef at a local catering company that I shall call The Kitchen. One of the fun things about this new job is that I had to acquire my tools, as well as my uniform. What girl doesn't like a little "required" shopping?

I had already purchased my white chef coat this summer, when I did my stage in a few kitchens. ("Stage" is the French term for "cooking for free.") However a real chef job necessitated both proper footwear and professional equipment. I got online and sifted through pages and pages of shoes on Zappos ... clogs, sneakers, maryjanes, Birks, Crocs, etc. (I was also shopping at the same time for my work boots for my farming job.) The Big Box of Shoes arrived a few days later and turned our living room into a shoe boutique. How fun prancing around trying on shoes without a pushy salesperson hovering over me! I took my sweet time, pantomiming cooking tasks, wearing different shoes on each foot, dashing back and forth to our dining room, but finally settled on the classic chef shoe: black danish clogs. They have served me well for my two days on clomping around The Kitchen.

The other absolute necessity was knives. Apparently the "house" knives in a commercial kitchen are notoriously dull, and no serious chef would be caught dead without their own knife kit slung over their shoulder when they arrive at work each day. This was a harder item to shop for than the shoes. After all, I am pretty much a professional shoe buyer -- been wearing them every day of my life -- but I am not a professional knife buyer. I looked online, on Craig's List, at the mall, and didn't quite know how to make a wise and also thrifty selection. Luckily, my Saturday morning ritual trip to the farmer's market provided the perfect solution for my dilemma: Sharpvan. These guys are super nice and had sharpened our kitchen knives for us before. As I was walking past the van I overheard that they sell knives as well! Even used ones! I spent a quality half-hour in the van and got all of my questions answered, received some good advice about the indispensable elements of my tool kit, held all of the knives, and walked away with a great bargain. I already have future dreams of purchasing a cleaver from them ... and maybe a Santoku knife ... there are still empty slots in my knife bag.

Well-equipped and smartly-outfitted, I worked my first two days in The Kitchen. I am very fortunate NOT to work in a Hell's Kitchen-type establishment and have not been yelled at yet, nor have I been called a donkey. My co-workers are actually incredibly helpful and very conscientious about explaining and mentoring and instructing. After all, I am a complete novice in a professional kitchen. My first two days can basically be summed up in two words: oil and mayonnaise. I worked almost exclusively on dressings and sauces and used at least 3 gallons of oil and 6 gallons of mayonnaise. I think that this job will give me a new perspective on sauces, dips, aiolis and dressings. I have already tasted more than enough mayonnaise-based recipes in two days to last me a lifetime, and I was instantly skeptical when offered "dipping sauce" for my fries at happy hour the other day. I also came away with two invaluable lessons from my fellow chefs: always rinse the capers before using them, and while it is spelled "Robot Coupe", it is pronounced "robo coo." That's plenty of lessons learned for my first week as Chef Molly.

Say NO to Frankenfish

Take a stand on the FDA's potential approval of genetically engineered salmon, check out the website and petition below, courtesy of FRESH The Movie:

http://action.freshthemovie.com/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=4050

Some food for thought:

"Almost 1 million farmed salmon escape annually in Norway alone."

Fish which are genetically engineered to grow much larger than normal fish are more attractive to native (non GE) fish for breeding because of their size. Thus GE fish have a selective advantage for breeding, and create more offspring. However the offspring of genetically engineered fish have a far higher mortality rate.

"Scientists found that putting 60 genetically engineered fish into a population of 60,000 native fish could render the entire species extinct in as little as 40 years."

 - information above taken from The Food Revolution by John Robbins. p350-351

Bean Sprouts

Well, the seedlings are up! We have been watching the beans poke through the soil and unfold over the last 2 days. It is amazing how fast they grow. Little sprouts of marigold, dill, and cosmos are also coming up ... I can't wait! I can't wait!

bean sprout photos taken over a 30-hour time period

Food Fact

Shared by my friend Jax:

"The top 3 commodities with the highest average miles per shipment:
1. Motor vehicles for transport - 1,504 miles
2. Spacecraft - 1,349 miles
3. Fresh fruit (excludes citrus) - 1,337 miles"

Wow. Thanks Jax, for putting the cost of our Chilean raspberries in February into perspective.

Eat in local food in season!

Urban Farmer

This week has marked the dawn of a new era in my professional life. Quite literally, I have been up at dawn this week and headed off to my new job as a farmer. I am working at a local organic urban farm, a 7-acre oasis of green and bird songs and crowing roosters in the midst of the vast and dusty urban jungle. This is the part of my story where I go back to the roots (again literally!) of where our food comes from.

The highlight of my first week was getting rained on while I changed the chickens' water dishes. Part of my farm duties include checking for eggs (got six!) and keeping the chickens in fresh water. These ladies are quite entertaining, and tough too. They are
the sole survivors of a brutal coyote attack on the flock and have since been moved to a more secure pen (i.e. one with a roof on it). They are gracious enough to accept my trespassing with only a minor ruffling of feathers and seem grateful for fresh water.

As I learned today, chickens are homicidal cannibals when the opportunity arises. I found a dead chicken in the coop, being casually pecked at and devoured by passing hens. The Farmer diagnosed the cause of death as group homicide following oviduct prolapse. I won't go into too much detail, but the dead chicken was essentially skin and bones  and feathers with pretty much nothing left inside. We had a moment of silence for the hen, and the corpse was taken out to the compost pile for burial. (Feathers and bones are both excellent as soil amendments when composted.) And then life went on. These things happen on the farm. 

Another exciting moment occurred when I was stacking crates of butternut squash in the walk-in cooler .... and a mouse jumped out! A little gray one, very fast and very intent on hiding in another crate of squash. Between four of us we managed to haul all of the squash back out again, find the mouse, and unceremoniously remove it from the premises.   

Among all of this excitement I also hauled crates of melons, loaded up the refrigerator truck, washed arugula, gently packaged squash blossoms, raked wood chips, got rained on several times, sampled some very spicy chilies, and learned that okra is very itchy to handle if you don't wear gloves. A pretty good start to my career as an urban farmer.   

Patio Farmer

I must admit that I have serious garden envy. Living in the desert, in the middle of a City, in a townhouse, with a north-facing concrete patio no less, my opportunities for growing my own food have been pretty limited. To this point, I have been successful in growing two things: aloe vera and elephant plants. These are the only two green living things that have managed to survive (and thrive!) at my house for any length of time. Of course, I have nurtured random wildflowers in the Spring, occasional sickly lettuce and one gangly looking basil plant, but I have not been able to grow anything truly edible.

Inspired by friends’ gardens, my visit to Maine to work in Mom’s garden heaven, and my dream future as a pioneering urban salad farmer I am embarking on an experimental adventure in patio farming. Aided by the tools and knowledge of my good friend Mike, and the patience and upper body strength of my handsome husband, a raised planter bed has finally been built on my patio.

We used concrete blocks to build the planter walls, and spent a sweaty beer-fueled evening painstakingly laying and mortaring the blocks together. I made several trips back and forth to the local material supply yard trucking river rock and top soil to my house and then carrying it by the bucket-full to fill the planter. The result is about 4” of river rock for drainage, covered by a landscape filter fabric and then about 10” of top soil mixed with compost from our local organic farmer. Since it turns out that “top soil” is really more like fine silty sand, I added a bag of store-bought compost, some organic fertilizer, and coffee grounds and tiny vegetable scraps from the kitchen.

After a week of mixing, watering, amending and raking I am now ready to grow stuff. Luckily for me, the low desert has a fall planting season beginning in late August / early September. So, bright and early this morning I headed to the patio in my night gown with my cup of tea and assumed my new identity as Urban Patio Farmer. Today I planted green beans, wax beans, dill, chives, marigolds and cosmos from seed. Nina and Casey both joined me to witness the ceremonial breaking of ground, and Nina blessed the garden with an extensive roll in the soil. Now I get to wait impatiently for the first seedlings to emerge … cosmos is due in 5 to 7 days with the beans lagging behind at 7 to 14 days. I am so excited!!!

Pool Garden

An impressive local effort towards food independence ... passed along by my buddy Jax.

http://www.treehugger.com/files/2010/08/garden-pool-family-of-four-grows-food-in-swimming-pool-arizona.php

Farewell to My Mother's Garden

It was a bittersweet parting from my mother's garden. After 6 weeks of tending, weeding, harvesting, admiring, documenting, and even sleeping within 100 feet of the garden it was time to leave. Reluctantly.

I laid in the tent for far too long the last morning. It was raining and the wind was blowing and I didn't want to go. There is something so magical about being in a tent while it is raining. Especially seeing through the skylight and watching the trees sway back and forth and the rain drops fall in spatters. The tent was my refuge and my cocoon, immersed in the outdoors with only a whisp of nylon between me and the birds, the bugs, the rain, the coyotes, the grass, intermittent acorns falling on the woodshed roof. The tent is one place where I felt very present in the world and very alive with nature.

Everything was lush and dripping and misty as I made my farewell garden rounds. Pajama farming, I have discovered, is in my blood and making my morning devotion to the greenery is a meditation in wonder and peace and beauty. Moments spent in the bean teepee confessional are cleansing and replenishing to the soul. Sharing time on my knees, hands deep in the soil, beside my mother in her Church of the Garden has been a sacred ritual and a blessing.

Goodbye winter squash growing secretly on the vines under your big leaf umbrellas.

Goodbye teepee beans who I trained to climb in spirals and watched grow from the ground to the sky.

 

Goodbye fuzzy peaches now so ripe and sweet and pink.

Goodbye prolific bush beans.

Goodbye sweet peas, my mom's favorite flower.

Goodbye zucchini plant who provided so much raw data and amazement.

Goodbye green tomatoes ... and hello to the first ripe red one that was so delicious.

Goodbye kale rows waiting patiently until frost in the fall.

Goodbye rutabagas who I never got to taste, but grew so alluringly behind the beets.

Goodbye radishes, my tiny, spicy and adorably cute food that I grew from seed.

Goodbye worms and frogs and beetles and bees and slugs and spiders and ladybugs.

Goodbye squash patch where I weeded and mulched and that evolved and travelled before my eyes. 

Goodbye sunflowers watching over the garden and nodding your heads in agreement.

Goodbye lush lettuce leaves curly and ruffly and crisp.

Goodbye herbs always ready for picking and adding fresh to dinner.

Goodbye zinnias and nasturtiums and cosmos and four o'clocks and ageratum and squash blossoms and bean flowers and twinkle phlox.

Goodbye my friends in the garden. Thank you for growing as I watched, for being unruly and adventuresome, for blossoming as I slept, for surprising me everyday with subtlety and beauty and magic.